CHAPTER XXV. – CROSS-CUTTING IN THE MINE
THE next day Rufus Grim was missed from the Peacock. His manager could not understand it. Never before had he absented himself from his office without giving the most detailed instructions in regard to work in the mine. When the following morning came and he was still absent, the manager’s fears ripened into genuine alarm and soon all the people of Gold Bluff were discussing the mystery of Rufus Grim’s disappearance.
A vigorous search was instituted, which resulted a few days later in finding his lifeless body at the bottom of the old prospect shaft. At the coroner’s inquest it was decided that he had been murdered, as was evidenced by peculiar wounds on the back of his head.
He was laid to rest by the side of his deceased wife, with a demonstration that far excelled any funeral that had ever taken place in Gold Bluff. Such a cowardly murder excited the sympathy of all who knew him. They forgot the pompous, over-bearing owner of the Peacock, in listening to the minister’s pious words of commendation over the mangled remains of Rufus Grim, the citizen.
The mystery surrounding his demise appealed to all law-abiding citizens to help hunt down the assassin. In the feverish excitement it was remembered that Hank Casey and Steve Gibbons were sworn enemies of the rich mine owner; indeed, the latter had even threatened his life in the presence of numerous witnesses.
The sheriff who had so ignominiously failed in running down the stage robbers, took the lead in trying to ferret out the murderer and bring him to justice. A few days after this, warrants were sworn out for the arrest of Steve Gibbons and Hank Casey, charging them with the crime. Gibbons was arrested, but Hank Casey could not be found. He had disappeared a few days after the murder, and no one knew where he had gone. Gibbons maintained a dogged silence and seemed much subdued and humiliated that not one of his many supposed friends came forward to sign his bond. Handcuffed and accompanied by the sheriff, heavily armed, he appealed in vain to many, but without success. Vance made himself quite unpopular by offering to sign Steve Gibbons’ bond. The people were indignant and said it was carrying his ill-feeling toward Rufus Grim entirely too far. As he had no property excepting an interest in Gray Rocks mine, which was undeveloped, he was considered incompetent as a bondsman and promptly rejected.
One evening Vance worked very late setting type on the Prospector. It was past midnight when he went to his sleeping room. He was about to retire when he heard some one knocking at the printing office door. He admitted the visitor and found it to be J. Arthur Boast.
“Good evening, Mr. Gilder,” said he, “I have come to see you on a little matter of great importance to myself.”
“Come in,” said Vance, “I have no light in this room; come on into my bedroom.”
"You will remember a conversation we had,” said Boast, “some time ago at the hotel.” Vance assented that he did. “Well, I have come tonight to claim a little of the reciprocal friendship which you promised me.”
“Circumstances,” said Boast, “indeed, shape the destiny of man. Of this I am more and more convinced. To think of us sitting down together as friends a month ago would have been preposterous, and yet I am happy to know we meet as such to-night. What impelled me to send for you the night you visited me at the hotel, I am unable to explain; an impulse that I was not strong enough to overcome, compelled me to do it. I feel, Mr. Gilder, that I have much to be thankful for in your friendship, and yet it has all been brought about by a circumstance over which I had no control. It was not the result of a premeditated judgment, but the outcome of an impulse.”
“I hope,” said Vance, as he reached Boast a cigar and lit one himself, “that you have no regrets in regard to our late friendly understanding.”
“No, indeed,” replied Boast, “on the contrary I feel that I am one of the most fortunate men living. By the way,” he continued, “this is an excellent cigar.”
“Yes,” replied Vance, “I received a box from one of my New York friends. It is a luxury that I am not able to indulge in very freely, unless some old chum happens to remember my isolation in these Western mountains and takes pity on me.”
“Have I told you,” asked Boast, “that I have quit drinking?”
“No!” replied Vance, in some surprise.
“Yes, I have given up red liquor altogether. The habit got a pretty strong hold on me and I was going down hill at a very rapid pace; indeed, I had quite given up any hope of ever being anything but a hard drinker. Scarcely had I reconciled myself to that belief, than a whim, a caprice, an impulse, or whatever you may call it, took hold of me and said, ‘No more liquor, J. Arthur Boast; not another drop,’ and from that day to this I have not tasted the abominable stuff.”
Vance assured him he was glad to hear of the reformation.
“I am in love; desperately so,’.rdquo; said Boast.
“In love?” repeated Vance.
“Yes, I am in love with my cousin, Bertha Allen, and she reciprocates my own tender affection. On her account, if not for my own, I am indeed glad the red liquor craze has been overcome, and that reminds me of the object of my visit.
“Bertha is such a stickler on formalities and so sensitive that I have had hard work to convince her our marriage should take place so soon after her mother’s death. Our arrangements were made to be married the day after to-morrow. Her step-father’s death, of course, complicated matters a little, and she thought we ought to postpone the affair. As usual, however,” continued Boast, “I have convinced her that she is wrong and I am right, and have finally gained her consent, on one condition, that you and Miss Louise will favor us with your presence and act as groomsman and bridesmaid.”
Vance was non-plussed at Boast’s remarks, and for a moment did not know what to say.
“It will be a very quiet affair,” continued Boast, “immediate relatives and all that – she has none, and neither have I, save my father and mother. We are to be married at my father’s. There’s no one Bertha thinks so much of as Louise. They have been chums for many years, and since you profess friendship for me, I feel sure you’ll not refuse my request.”
Vance promised to consider the matter and let him know the next day, after consulting Louise.
“Very well,” said Boast, “I will call to-morrow. It’s really too bad,” he went on, “that a weak little woman like Bertha should have had so much suffering during the last few months. Actuated by sympathy as well as love, I feel it my duty to set formalities aside, marry her, and thus insure to myself the privilege of protecting and caring for her as she deserves.”
“Yes,” said Vance, “she has had a great deal to endure. By the way, Mr. Boast, do you believe Steve Gibbons guilty of Mr. Grim’s murder?”
Boast relit his cigar before answering. “Mr. Gilder,” said he, after deliberating, “I hope Mr. Gibbons is innocent. I have tried to look calmly at his case, shrouded in mystery as it is. I have tried to blunt my ears to whisperings and prejudices and not jump with the multitude toward a hasty conclusion Of course, the circumstantial evidence against Mr. Gibbous is rather damaging. Mr. Casey’s disappearance and Gibbon’s continued silence as to his whereabouts, makes it look still worse. The probabilities are that nine out of ten of the people of Gold Bluff believe him to be guilty. They have built up a wall of circumstantial evidence that seems to be impregnable, and unless the public pulse is permitted to cool before his trial comes off, they very likely will convict him, To me, mercy seems much more preferable than a hasty judgment, Well, good-night, Mr. Gilder. I am sorry to have been compelled to call on you at such a late hour, but you know,” said he, with a jocular laugh, “it is an urgent case, and when you are as near to your nuptials as I am, I’ll forgive you if you should rout me out of bed at all hours of the night.”
“A strange man!” said Vance to himself when Boast was gone, “he talks like a philosopher. His judgment is seasoned with mercy. How could I have misunderstood him as I did? It’s rather odd that he and Bertha Allen are to be married. I know Louise will be surprised. After all, it’s best that he should marry Miss Allen, and the very fact that he makes her his wife at this time when she is left completely alone, really ennobles the fellow to me.”
The following day a favorable answer was given to Boast, and the marriage took place the next evening. It was indeed a quiet affair. Whether Colonel Boast and his wife approved of their only son marrying his cousin or not, Vance was unable to satisfactorily decide in his own mind; but he and Louise both acknowledged that they felt freed from an indescribable restraint after taking their departure.
Almost simultaneously with the announcement of J. Arthur Boast’s marriage was the discovery that Bertha Allen was the heiress of all the vast possessions of the murdered mine owner. Rufus Grims attorney became Arthur Boast’s trusted adviser. Work in the great Peacock mine continued, and within a week J. Arthur Boast was in control of affairs; indeed, he seemed a changed man. His responsibilities seemed to subdue without irritating him. The people were quick to discover new elements of strength in the controller of the Peacock, and vied with each other in giving him encouragement.
Work on Gray Rocks had not been progressing so smoothly. Old Colonel Bonifield, fired with the enthusiasm of a Ponce de Leon, believed the forty odd men employed in cross-cutting the drift shaft from the 500 foot level would remain with him, although his finances were exhausted.
It was on Saturday night that he called his men about him and explained his temporary embarrassments.
He paid them off in full, and assured them that three or four more days’ work with their united assistance, was all that was necessary to reach the gold he had been looking for so many weary years, and expressed confidence, in his chivalrous way, that all his employes would report the next Monday morning for work, and stay with him until the drift was finished. The following Monday morning, however, found but a half dozen men reporting for work, much to Colonel Bonifield’s surprise and disappointment.
The old Colonel went into the mine with his faithful adherents, and encouraged them by his undaunted energy. What could have been accomplished by forty men in the space of three days, would require fifteen or twenty days with his half dozen assistants. They lessened the size of the drift shaft, however, and this would make quite a saving of time. Throughout the week, the Colonel, with his handful of assistants, labored incessantly. When the next Monday morning came around, he found that only three reported for duty. This was indeed discouraging, but with a determination that knew no brooking, he went on.
Two days later, his three assistants advised him that their families were in want of the necessities of life, and while they still had unbounded faith in Gray Rocks, yet they owed a duty to their families first and before all else, and could not remain with him any longer.
After this, the engineer and fireman took turns in helping the Colonel. One man remaining in the engine room performed the work of both. After a couple of days of monotonous drilling and blasting, the Colonel one evening told Louise of his great discouragement.
“My deah daughter,” said the Colonel, “they have all dese’ted me; I am left alone to finish the work in the mine as best I can. It’s pow’ful humiliatin’ to be dese’ted just when I am reachin’ fo’ the last round in the laddeh.” Louise had slipped her arms around his neck while he was speaking.
“My dear father,” she said, “why not go to Mr. Gilder; he has been so true to you, and I am sure, now that you are so near finishing your work, he will give you what assistance is needed.”
The old man stroked his daughter’s hair affectionately. “Yes, suh, yo’ are right; he would help me if he could. No one seems to undehstand me, Louise, my deah child, except’n’ yo’self and Mr. Gilder. I may as well tell yo’ that I called on Mr. Gilder sev’al days ago fo’ a little mo’ money, and he told me the $6,000 which he had given us was practically every dollar he had in the world. It made my old heart bleed to see the pained expression on the noble young fellow’s face – pained because he couldn’t help me mo’. I explained to him that it made no diff’ence; that my men – the rascals who have so shamefully dese’ted me – had confidence in Gray Rocks, and that they would stand by me fo’ a few days longeh.”
The Colonel walked back and forth in an agitated way, and held his head between his hands. “My God, it will drive me crazy,” he exclaimed, “if the work is not finished.” Louise was startled at his manner. She noticed that he appeared older than ever before, and condemned herself for not giving him more encouragement and help.
“Father, how can I help you?” she asked, imploringly.
“There is no way, my precious little child; come here to me.” He seated himself and she nestled on his lap.
“To-morrow morning, father,” said she, “now listen, for I am going to have my way – to-morrow morning I am going with you down to the 500 foot level and help you with the work. I’m not afraid, and I’m very strong, too.”
“Why, what would Mr. Gilder say if he knew my little girl was down in a mine workin’.” said the Colonel, half amused at her earnestness, while he pressed her close and closer to him.
“Mr. Gilder?” repeated Louise, looking dreamily into the bed of red coals in the open grate, “we won’t tell him. How heroic it was of him to give you every dollar he had in the world! Tell me, father, do you think any one else would have done so much?”
“No, suh,” replied the Colonel, “there’s betteh blood cou’sin’ through his veins than any man I eveh saw. To be sure, he’s a nawth’n man – that is, he was bawn in the nawth; but even the old state of Virginia neveh produced a manlier man.”
True to her promise, the next morning found Louise with her father in the drift shaft, 500 feet underground. They had carried with them a well-filled lunch basket, and worked with a determination born of despair. Holes were drilled deep in the solid rock and filled with giant powder, then after lighting the fuse, they would retreat until the blast resounded in hollow mockery through the caverns of the earth. No sooner would the smoke clear away than they would drill again.
While Louise was drilling and putting forth all her strength in work that would have tried the courage of the hardiest miner, her father would take turns with her, and again he would measure the distance from the shaft to see how much farther they had to drift.
It was late in the evening, and they had been working on some time in silence, when the Colonel, after making a last measurement, shouted out in the stillness, “Well finish it to-night! Bring the powdeh, while I drill!” and presently another blast resounded like a death knell to hope, tearing away great sections of the adamantine rock. On, on they worked – drilling and blasting.
Louise had become well-nigh exhausted, and rested for a moment, when the Colonel shouted: “Drill on! Drill on! There’s no time to lose!”
“But, father,” cried Louise, “the powder is all gone. Shall we not send the engineer for more? There’s hardly enough for more than another blast.”
“No!” yelled the Colonel, almost like a maniac in vehemence, “I have no money fo’ mo’ powdeh. Let us use what we have. Scrape the cans and put it all in one great blast. I will drill.”
Louise was frightened. She feared her father was losing his mind. It might be, after all, that instead of benefitting him by her constant encouragement and belief in Gray Rocks, she had but added to his vain hallucination, and the shock of another failure might dethrone his reason. While she was thinking, she industriously applied herself to gathering from the different cans that had contained the giant powder all that was left into one. Yes, there was enough for one more blast, but not enough for two.
“Where is the powdeh?” cried the Colonel. She looked at her father, whose face was almost as white as the disheveled hair of his uncovered head. He had thrown aside his hat and coat, and was wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement.
“A moment, father,” said Louise, laying her hand on his arm.
“Let me alone, I have no time to wait,” he said.
“But listen, father, won’t you? Listen to me just a moment.”
“Well, what is it?” said he, impatiently, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
“For thirteen years, father, you’ve been striving and striving to find gold in Gray Rocks; what if you are no nearer now than you were thirteen years ago? Will you be so terribly disappointed, father? Come, tell me you will not.” She had her arms about his neck and was looking pleadingly up into his face. He pushed her from him.
“Yo’ talk as if yo’ doubted,” said he. “I’m thirteen years nearer success to-night than the day I commenced. It’s vehy humiliatin’ to me to think that yo’, Louise, should doubt yo’r old father’s judgment. Have yo’ forgotten that my blood cou’ses in yo’r veins? Are yo’, too, turnin’ against me at the vehy last?”
“Oh, father,” cried Louise, as she clung to him and buried her head on his breast, sobbing wildly, “don’t speak to me so harshly! It will kill me! Have I not,” said she, between her sobs, “stood by you and believed with you, though all others, unless it was Mr. Gilder, turned against you? I believe now that you are right, father, but it may be deeper down, and I was only trying to make the disappointment less hard in case disappointment should again be the result of our efforts.”
“There, there, little girl,” said the Colonel, stroking her head affectionately, “I do forgive yo’, and yo’ must forgive yo’r old, excitable father. Let us put in the powdeh; let us make the last blast, and let its resoundin’ peals tell the whole world that we’ve done our best!”
“Yes, father; that we have indeed done our utmost; and after this blast we will go home and still have faith in Gray Rocks, though the whole world disbelieves.”
“We have plenty of powdeh here,” said the old Colonel, picking up the can, “to tear ten tons of rock into shreds.”
The fuse was lighted and they retired for protection until the powder should ignite. Presently there was a deafening roar, as if the mountains were being split asunder. The Colonel grasped his daughter’s hand with such a vise-like grip that it almost made her cry out with pain.
“The last blast!” shouted the old Colonel, when the reverberations had ceased, “the smoke will soon clear away, and then we shall see, yes, suh, we shall see!”
CHAPTER XXVI. – A STARTLING EDITORIAL
VANCE knew nothing of Colonel Bonifield’s discouraging labors in the mine. Indeed, he had been so busy with other matters that he had not found time to call on the Bonifield’s for over a week – a very unusual occurrence.
A few days prior to Louise’s experience in her father’s mine, Vance had been routed up by some one knocking on his window in the middle of the night. It proved to be none other than the missing Hank Casey, accompanied by Marcus Donald of Waterville. A consultation that lasted several hours followed. An understanding was finally reached, and it was agreed that Hank Casey should remain concealed during the daytime in Vance’s room, and await developments.
“I may be laying myself liable to the law,” said Vance, laughingly, “in concealing a man for whom a warrant has been issued, but, nevertheless, I believe what you tell me, and on our mutual friend, Marcus Donald’s advice, I shall act my part unflinchingly.”
“Of course,” said Marcus Donald, “it’s none of my affairs in one sense of the word, but when Mr. Casey came to Waterville, having walked all the way from Gold Bluff by a circuitous route, in order to avoid meeting any one, and told me that Mr. Gibbons was about to be unjustly arrested for murder, I at once became interested, especially with Mr. Casey’s knowledge of the affair.”
“Ye see, pardner,” said Hank Casey, addressing Vance, “I ‘lowed things was goin’ to be pipin’ hot in these ‘ere diggin’s, fer I heered a rumour that Steve an’ I was both to be arrested. I knowed’ t’wan’t no use fer both of us to lay ‘round here till our hands an’ feet were tied, so, sez I to Steve Gibbons, sez I, ‘Steve, you make your perch here in Gold Bluff, an’ don’t you run nary an inch, and I’ll scoot out an’ try an’ scare up some help an’ turn the tables on these ‘ere chaps. Of course, nuther of us liked Rufus Grim any too well; that is, we had no hankerin’ love for him; but I ‘low were not quite low enough down to commence murderin’ people, even if they did cheat us out of a rich mine like the Peacock. This game ain’t out yet,” he went on, “the higher courts may reverse the decision of the court below, and in that event Steve an’ I will yet have justice, though it s been dangnation slow ‘bout comin’.”
“I am greatly astonished,” said Vance, “at your revelation. It is entirely contrary to my theory of the case. I am beginning to feel, however, that my judgment amounts to but very little in this western country, though I must say I have received great encouragement from your words, Mr. Donald, in regard to Waterville property. I will throw a bomb into the enemy’s camp by writing an editorial for the Prospector that will touch a tender place, if Mr. Casey is correct in his statement.”
It so happened that on the very day that Louise and her father were working in the mine, the Prospector was issued, and contained the following editorial:
THE RUFUS GRIM MURDER
The history of Rufus Grim’s demise, though still shrouded in mystery, will doubtless, when the facts are known, startle the people of Gold Bluff even more than the murder itself. It is true that Steve Gibbons is accused and languishes in the county jail, and that a warrant is out for the arrest of his old associate, Hank Casey. In the excitement of the hour, our people may have interpreted circumstantial evidence as proof of guilt. As a matter of fact, not one jot or tittle of damaging evidence, in the Prospector’s judgment, can be produced against these men.
The idea of suicide has been effectually set aside by the findings at the coroner’s inquest. No one doubts that it was a cold-blooded, cowardly murder. We believe the murderer is in Gold Bluff to-day, and like the wolf of old, is clad in sheep’s raiment.
Our people should understand the difference between circumstantial and real evidence. It is probably true that both Steve Gibbons and Hank Casey were on anything but friendly terms with Rufus Grim, but they were not his only enemies; indeed, there is one in Gold Bluff who was secretly, if not openly, a much greater enemy to the rich mine owner than either of the suspected parties.
It is time that prejudice gave way to reason, and that others, who profited much more by Rufus Grim’s removal, should not only be suspected, but subjected to the crucial test of a thorough investigation.
This article set the people of Gold Bluff agog. The entire camp, from center to circumference, seemed startled by the boldness of Vance Gilder’s double-leaded editorial. When J. Arthur Boast read the article, he was dazed by its audacity. He sent for his attorney, and throughout the afternoon a consultation that lasted far into the night was held.
Work on the Peacock was shut down the following morning at Boast’s request, and the men assembled at the company’s office. Boast, addressing the miners, said:
“You, doubtless, have read the editorial in yesterday’s Prospector, written by a stranger and interloper in our midst, Mr. Vance Gilder, who foully accuses me of murdering Rufus Grim.
I am now going down to the office of the Prospector, and shall demand an amende honorable. So many of you as see fit may accompany me.”
“Ay, ay!” the crowd shouted, “we are ready!” Indeed, the citizens of Gold Bluff almost to a man, sided with Boast, and said Vance was showing a cowardly venom at J. Arthur Boast’s unexpected success and good fortune, that was neither dignified nor just. Boast led the way to the Prospector office, and was followed by a throng of determined miners and angry citizens, who were in a frame of mind that boded no good for Vance Gilder.
Louise Bonifield had just come over to the Prospector office with a message from her father, and met Arthur Boast at the office door. Louise tripped lightly into the office and saluted Vance with a cheery smile and good morning, while Boast paused in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mr. Gilder,” said he, savagely.
“Good morning,” replied Vance.
“Who wrote this editorial?” asked Boast, striking vigorously a copy of the Prospector which he held in his hand. “I tell you,” continued Boast, “I never murdered Rufus Grim, and any man that says I did is a liar, abase scoundrel, and a contemptible whelp!”
"That’s right! Ay, ay!” exclaimed the mob that was standing behind Boast, ready at a moment’s notice to loot the printing office.
Vance was cool and collected. He noticed that Boast spoke in his old-time thin, piping voice, and his eyes were restless and glittered like a fiend’s. The element of manhood and of the philosopher had wholly disappeared.
Louise stepped quickly forward before Vance could make a reply, and laying her hand on Boast’s arm, said: “Arthur, you know I have always been your friend. I am sure Mr. Gilder has never accused you of murdering Mr. Grim. What do you mean?”
“But he has accused me,” retorted Boast. “Read this!”
Vance stepped hurriedly from behind the case, and drawing Louise gently back, stood face to face with Arthur Boast. He was calm and determined. “Where,” said he, “where have I accused you of murdering Rufus Grim? Point out the sentence in the article where your name even appears?”
“Well, you haven’t used my name, but you might as well have done so.”
“No,” said Vance, as his eyes gleamed with fiercest indignation and anger, “I have not accused you, Arthur Boast, but you, by this act, with your mob of hirelings behind you, have accused yourself. Now you must, and by the eternals, shall answer to the law. A guilty conscience,” he continued, “needs no accuser, and it is your accusing conscience that has prompted you to come here and publicly charge yourself with the crime. Neither you, nor your host of admirers on full pay, can intimidate me. If you can pass through the test of a thorough investigation, and can be proved innocent, then I will have no more to say, but until you do this, I shall publicly accuse you and denounce you as the murderer of Rufus Grim!”
Vance towered up like a giant before the writhing and shriveling form of J. Arthur Boast.
“Well, I don’t know that you have accused me in this editorial,” whined Boast, “and I don’t know as I need to take any steps of revenge until you dare to use my name in your paper. I guess I’ll wait and see what my lawyer advises. Fall back, boys, I have nothing farther to say at this interview.”
“But I have,” said Vance, in thundering tones, “and before long I shall have much to say.”
“Well, you won’t say it through the columns of the Gold Bluff Prospector. It is my property; I have the bill of sale in my pocket.”
“Yes,” said Vance, “yours is the weapon of a coward; the unholy use of the power of money, but your plan of securing possession of the Prospector has no terrors for me. The copy of the Prospector that you hold in your hand contains the last editorial I ever expect to write for the paper. It may please you to know that my last dollar is gone; I am penniless, and without interference from you the Prospector has been issued for the last time under my management. I have been typo, managing editor, devil, form setter, city editor, publisher and everything else, trying hard to make an honest living. I am now through. You and your host of satellites will oblige me by leaving the premises. Come to-morrow morning and take possession. You’ll not find me in the way.”
Boast turned, and facing his mob of backers said, with the forced laugh of a whipped man:
“I thought I would squelch him, boys; he had to cave in, you bet.” His voice was shrill and squeaky, and his braggadocio air, as he led his admirers away, hid but poorly his nervousness and agitation.
Vance and Louise were alone. Louise had stood by during the interview, startled and alarmed. She marvelled at Vance’s strength; at his grandeur; at his nobleness; and when she heard him say that now he was penniless, she remembered the sacrifices he had made to help her father. He turned toward her and their eyes met. It came to her like an inspiration, that her respect and admiration for him in times past had been but a prelude to the pulsing love she now felt for him. She reached out both her hands toward him; he took them, and a moment later she was sobbing on his breast. No word had been spoken, but volumes had been interchanged in that one look.
The doorway was darkened. They quickly looked up, Louise through her tears, and Vance with a beaming countenance. Colonel Bonifield was surveying the situation with a look of genuine surprise on his face.
“Yo’ almost pa’lyze me, suh,” said the Colonel, “indeed yo’ do. Why, Mr. Gilder, I sent my little girl oveh here to tell yo’ that I had a matteh of vehy great impo’tance to talk oveh with yo’, but she was gone so long, suh, that I became impatient and came oveh myself.”
“Oh, papa,” said Louise, “Mr. Gilder and Arthur have had a terrible quarrel!”
“A quarrel, suh; why, how is that?”
“I am always ready to talk with you, Colonel,” said Vance, in a confused way, and unconsciously retaining one of Louise’s hands.
“Well, now, if my little girl,” said the Colonel “God bless her! will go oveh home and see about preparin’ dinneh and lay an extra plate fo’ yo’, we’ll have our talk and come oveh a little lateh.”
While no word had been spoken between Vance and Louise, yet he believed that his great love had been understood and rewarded. He lifted her hand to his lips as she started to go, with that chivalrous respect so becoming in the knights of old. When she was gone, Vance turned and thought he saw a smile chasing rapidly over the Colonel’s face.